


Sunday Bloody Sunday

by Rojia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 12:42:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rojia/pseuds/Rojia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eventually everyone runs out of time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Bloody Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> Generic disclaimer! - These are unofficial, non-profit making stories. They are in no way affiliated with the authors of the original works, their publishers, or any companies holding rights there in. Anything created by me is owned by me, including plots, characters, and places. Ownership of any copyrighted material is neither claimed nor implied. In other words, don't sue me.
> 
> All images made by me unless otherwise specified.
> 
> Based off a plot line from an RP I was a part of.

Hermione Weasley stepped slowly out of Minerva McGonagall's bedroom, making a point to close the door as softly as possible so as not to disturb her. The house itself was silent in the late evening light, like it usually was, and so every sound she made as she shifted away from the door seemed to echo and reverberate off the walls themselves. When she had managed to make her way across the dining area and into the sitting room let out a long breath and glanced back at the door. It was a curious thing, Minerva's bedroom door. It was as every door in her house, a particularly bright scarlet that reminded Hermione at all times of a cherry. She had asked about it once, what seemed like an eternity ago, and Minerva had simply smiled in an odd way and gone with what she had been doing. Of course, anyone that didn't know exactly what the house was wouldn't know what color the door was. They only see a dilapidated barn, with the roof pitching at odd angles and moss growing all over it. It seemed to be the standard way to hide a wizarding house from the muggle world, all across the world there were hundreds maybe even thousands of houses disguised as barns, ruins, and even old outhouses.

She moved across the sitting room the fireplace and dropped onto a small stool situated not far from the hearth. It seemed to have been placed there on purpose and considering how often wizards used floo powder to speak through fires Hermione imagined it had been left for just such an occasion. She took a handful of the shimmering powder form a small cup on the side of the fireplace and dropped it into the flames which burned an emerald green. “Ronald Weasley's office, the Ministry of Magic.” She spoke clearly, and the flames twinkled at her, “Ron? Are you there?”

After a moment Ron's face appeared in the flames, glancing around the room until he saw her, “Hermione! How are things there?” The somewhat happy face he'd had at seeing her began to fade as he looked at her expression. “She's not....”

“Oh no.” Hermione shook her head, “She's quite sick though, I'm not sure what more I can even do...” She rested her elbows on her knees and shot another glance off toward the bedroom. Ron was looking quite grim when she rounded on him again, “I'd nearly forgotten, did you find anything about the name?”

“Oh, right.” Ron's face vanished from the fireplace, the flames still flickering and casting an eerie green hue over everything. Hermione wondered if maybe he'd forgotten to even check on it and was doing so now when his face reappeared, his eyes down as he was most likely reading something in his hand. “The only mention of it I could find anywhere was a teacher who taught for one year at Hogwarts, Defense Against the Dark Arts, apparently he was the one that started that curse everyone went on about.” He smiled in a sad sort of way. “Of course, this was about the time the first war broke out. I sent an owl about mid day but I haven't gotten any response. It should have found him by now but...” His face fell and he looked earnestly at his wife. “There's no record of him after he quit teaching, I'm nto even sure if he made it through the war.”

Hermione nodded, “I was worried about that myself. I asked her about it but she hasn't sad anything else.” She stood and began pacing in front of the fireplace, Ron's eyes following her as she went back and forth before him, “I thought maybe it was a relative at first, but the more I think on it the more likely it seems they were just old friends. He very well might be dead, and she's just remembering things... She's not entirely lucid at times.”

“It's not your fault Hermione.” Ron said in the soothing way he had when she was upset. “It's not like we have a lot to go on.”

“I know Ron, I just.... I don't want something to happen and it's just me here. She should have someone else, but with the new term about to start and everyone else working there's no one else that can make it. I thought maybe if we could find him...” She trailed off and stopped her pacing, staring at the floorboards for a long moment before she finally looked back up at him, “Thank you. I'll be home late again tonight, tell the children I love them?” Ron nodded and then vanished into the flames, leaving her alone with the flickering green fire.

She took the fire poker form the hook near the fireplace and shifted the logs, the green flames sparking obstinately a few times before returning to their usual orange and gold. She replaced the poker and considered what to do next. Perhaps a cup of tea? She walked back through the dining room into the kitchen and began looking through the cabinets for the kettle and tea tin that Minerva had used on more then one occasion when she'd come over. After looking through cabinets that seemed magically enlarged and held everything from cauldrons to a roasting pan that looked big enough for her to bathe in she found the shiny brass kettle above the icebox. She placed it in the sink and left it to fill as she searched again for the tea tin and noticed that everything in the cabinets had changed to food somehow. By the time the kettle was full she found the thing, full of tea bags as usual, and placed it on the counter near the stove. She returned to the sink, turned off the tap and placed the kettle on a burner, lighting it with the tip of her wand before she returned to the sitting room and looked around the sitting room for possibly the hundredth time today.

One wall was nothing but books from floor to ceiling, some were text books she'd read, some novels and others books on things even she had never heard of and she desperately wanted to borrow them if the opportunity arose. On end tables and hanging from the walls were a number of unusual clocks that told everything from time to the position of the stars, and one of which was indicating it was going to rain soon. There were odds and ends strewn over every surface, although in a way that suggested order only Minerva could manage.

Something caught her eye as she was looking across a table with a particularly large battle ax and she crossed to it, picking up the item in question. As the light outside began to fade quickly a lamp popped on beside her and illuminated her own face in the picture she was holding. Beside her stood Minerva, a look on her face that suggested Ron had just said something rather upsetting to her, although around Ron she usually looked at least mildly annoyed. In the background she saw James crawling around on the floor, Teddy and Victoire chasing one another, and she remembered the day this was taken. She and Ron, along with a few others, had been invited to James' first birthday party.

She replaced it and picked up another picture, this one featuring a girl who looked no more then twenty and a man of a similar age beside her. She examined the girl's face, but she couldn't place it. At first the hair, which even in the faded black and white seemed to have a red tint, made her consider a Weasley but judging by the age it would have had to Molly and it didn't look like her. Then the thought occurred to her, as she glanced at a few of the other pictures, that this was Minerva. She'd never seen a picture of her before their school days, and even then she was in her seventies, and she'd never seen a hint of red in her hair. She turned her attention to the man then, thinking perhaps it was Albus Dumbledore, they had been very close, but the thought was quickly banished from her mind. He was tall and thin, with large blue eyes and very high cheekbones. He had his hair slicked back against his head in a way that reminded her of Draco Malfoy and while he smiled at her he never showed his teeth, he simply turned the corners of his mouth up. As she watched the image of him slipped an arm around Minerva's waist and there was no denying the sudden darker shade of gray that crept across Minerva's face.

Could this have been some long lost boyfriend? While Hermione was sure she had boyfriends in the past, she had been married for a time, it seemed ridiculous to consider the idea Minerva McGonagall had a lover of any kind, ever. Minerva was much too tight laced to ever have had a lover, but of course Hermione imagined people might have thought the same thing about her for a long time. The boy spoke to the image of Minerva who smiled cheerily at him and then waved lightly to Hermione. She returned the smile and was in the midst of replacing the photograph when a small gap between the pieces of the frame caught her attention and she flipped it over. It was obvious the frame had been opened and the picture removed a number of times, and Hermione felt compelled to do the same. As she slipped the back of the frame from the image three words and a date stared back at her. Nicholai and I - 1956.

So this was him. She replaced the back of the frame and turned the photo again in her hands, this time staring much more closely at the boy. This was the man who’s name Minerva had said in her sleep two nights ago. She could understand why, something about him was very.... interesting, now that she was looking at him she didn't seem able to stop. It was if his Image alone drew you in.

The crash of thunder that suddenly echoed through the small cottage nearly made her drop the picture. The clock on the wall that predicted weather had bypassed rain and gone straight to thunder storm, which the sound of rain hitting the glass and the occasional flashes of lightning seemed more then willing to support. After another particularly loud crash of thunder she choose a book from the shelves, one she had found when researching horcruxes and had left at the Burrow in favor of more informative material, and started for the kitchen again to check the tea.

She had just passed the door when she stopped, not sure if she had heard distant thunder or someone knocking. The sound repeated and she went quickly to the door, looking through the small peep hole. Outside she could hardly see anything but darkness and driving rain until another flash of lightning illuminated the back of someone’s head and woolen jacket. She quickly opened the door and was struck by the face that turned to meet her. “Hello. Is this Minerva McGonagall's home?” She stared at the man who was drenched from head to foot, and was staring at her with enormous blue eyes from under a mass of damp black hair. This was the photograph made real, and something about him kept her from answering, even though she knew she should.

He raised a brow at her and then produced a soaked piece of parchment from his pocket, “I received this letter....” He held it toward her and she instantly recognized the Ministry seal at the top of the page, Ron's signature clearly visible at the bottom. “May I come in?” He added after clearing his throat lightly, tightening the collar of his coat around his neck a bit with his hand.

“Oh yes! I'm so sorry, please do come in!” Hermione stepped out of the was and watched as he stepped into the house, slipping the coat off and running a hand through his hair to slick it back against his head. “Would you like a towel or...” She wasn't quite sure how to ask if he wanted her to use her wand to dry him, although she did imagine he could do it himself if he so desired.

“No thank you.” The corners of his mouth turned up a little in a polite smile.

Hermione stared for a moment, not entirely sure what to say. This man was the man from the photograph, and if not he bared and incredible resemblance to his father. “Are you... Nicholai?” The thought was mind boggling, he would have to be well into his hundreds, which for wizards wasn't that unusual, but he didn't look like he had changed at all since the picture had been taken.

He smiled that same smile again, “I was told Minerva isn't well? How is she?” Hermione's eyes slid from him to the bedroom door and the smile slipped from his face. “I see. Could I see her?”

Hermione nodded, “Of course! We've been trying to find you, she said your name in her sleep the other night and I was worried the letter wouldn't find you in time...” She paused and turned toward the dinning area, “It's this way. She's been sleeping quite a bit so if she falls asleep while you're talking with her, it's not you.” She motioned toward the bedroom door and though she saw another smirk cross his face at the sight of it.

“Thank you very much.” He said quietly, crossing to the door opening it slowly and sliped through it without a sound. Before the door closed entirely his voice drifted out to her again. “Your tea is done.” There was a click as the door closed and latched in place and Hermione was left standing there looking slightly dumbfounded. Then, as if on cue, the kettle began to steam and hiss, the sound quickly climbing to a sharp whistle as the water reached its boil.

Inside the bedroom Nicholai could hear the whistling through the door, and in some way it unnerved him. It was an odd feeling really, the sensation of butterflies in his stomach, and it was one he hadn't had in a very long time. The occasional flicker of lightning through the window showed the room better then the gas lamp in the corner, although his eyes were well enough adjusted already that neither were necessary. He walked quietly around the large, four poster bed that stood against one wall and found a chair near the bedside that had been pulled from it's place by the window.

For a moment he wasn't entirely sure what to do, and eventually settled on sitting in the chair where he could see her through a gap in the curtains. She was laying in the bed, breathing shallowly and apparently very much asleep. She had more lines in her face then the last time he had seen her and her hair had lost all hint of red or black and was now nearly white. Even with all of this change from the last time he seen her he knew it was here, he didn't need her to look the same to know, he could feel it, smell it, there was no doubt in his mind. Very slowly he leaned forward to take her hand in his wondering for a moment if his had was cold from having been in the rain and wiping it quickly on the blanket before he did. “Minerva?”

It took a moment but eventually the finger in his hand curled around his own, “Nicholai?”

He smiled and leaned closer, running his free hand over her hair and squeezing her fingers in his hand. “Hello love.” He could almost hear the blush creep across her cheeks, “It has been far, far too long.”

Minerva shifted a little under his gaze and smiled up at him through the gloom. He knew she couldn't see him, or if she could it was at best a vague outline in this darkness, but here eyes rested on him regardless. “I must look horrible.” She said with a slight chuckle that turned into a cough.

He waited for her coughing to stop and shook his head. “Minni, forgive me for saying it but I have never once cared what you looked like.” Weather or not she believed it, it was true. There was never a moment when he cared about her appearance, he'd watched too many people grow old for it to bother him. “I came as soon as I'd heard.” She smiled lightly at him, “I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner.”

She shook her head a bit, her eyes drifting closed, “There’s nothing to forgive.” She settled back into her pillow a little, her eyes still closed as she spoke, “Time varies greatly between the two of us.”

He watched her face as her eyes opened and closed a few times, taking a moment to kiss the back of her hand. This seemed to bring her attention to him again and she watched him from behind heavily lidded eyes. “Minni, if you'd like I can stop this.” She didn't move or answer, she simply watched him, something about the way she was looking at him telling him she wasn’t understanding what she was hearing, if she was even hearing him at all. “Do you remember how things were when we were together?” At this she nodded almost imperceptibly and he smiled warmly at her, although the words seemed to catch in his throat as he spoke again. “We can be that way, always.”

He watched as her eyes closed again, she was asleep almost before her eyes were able to close. For a moment he feared the worst, but he could hear her heart in the darkness just over the rain drumming on the window glass behind him. She was alive, and understandably just the effort of answering him had drained what energy she had at the moment. He watched her quietly for a long while, her chest rising and falling and her face, despite it's age, making him feel better then he had when he arrived. “Minerva...” He knew she couldn't hear him, that she was beyond his words for now, but he couldn't stop himself saying it. “I swore a very long time ago that I would never do what I'm offering to do now, no matter the reason. I won't... I can't do this without knowing it's what you want to do.” He watched as her chest rose and fell in a steady albeit shallow rhythm and he couldn't help but feel that no matter the place or their appearance nothing had changed since their days in Hogwarts.


End file.
